Save Me, Frenzy
by mia sabella
Summary: Mulder and Scully deal with a new case that is more personal than they expected it to be. Watch as their dynamic evolves and the situation gets more terrifying as they dig deeper, touching mental illness and plummeting into conspiracies hitting both our agents right in their past.
1. Chapter 1

**Save Me, Frenzy**

**Title: **Save Me, Frenzy

**Pairing: **Mulder/Scully

**Rating: **T – M (Possible mature content in the nature of words, violence, explicit language which may be triggering for some)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the X-files and/or any of the characters in it. They belong to Fox&amp; Co. , the producers and Chris Carter. I do not own any rights to books, movies, titles or trademarks mentioned in the hereby story.

**Made for entertainment purposes only.**

**A/N: ** Happy New Year!

#

**Chapter 1**

It was a windless, lacklustre day in Virginia. And everything from the parks, to the monuments stood stagnant while a few daring onlookers melted in the heat. The air stood, unmoving, giving the illusion of a stuffy room. The only living thing excited about the skin-burning heat, would be the plants, slowly growing.

Most concerned citizens stayed home on such a Sunday, waiting for a hint of a breeze to flutter by their open windows. A few AC's rumbled absent mindedly in some windows. In one such building, the resident on the third floor had drawn the curtains tight enough to forbid even the hint of sunshine to enter into the apartment.

Arianna Moore watched her curtains. They were a murky-brown, thick and cheap. The kind you got half price on a Christmas Sale. When one entered the house, the dark curtains were the last thing they saw, not that anyone except the resident had stepped in since the movers left about eighteen months ago. She felt protected from the heat. She sighed.

Tuning her attention back to the pot again, hip resting against a black granite kitchen counter, her pale hands clutched the coal handle of her coffee pot. She tilted her hand in the slightest to pour the hot caffeinated liquid down the drain. She watched the brown poison leave slight stains on her stain-less steel sink. Coffee swirled down unhurriedly and she stared at it. The swirls made her feel hot and dizzy.

It was like a whirlpool of brown, dominating and mesmerising.

A rude thud made her jump. The pot had slid from her reckless hands and had fallen into the sink. She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut from the monotonous heat. The pot lay in the sink, stopping the hypnotising whirlpool. She dragged it out of the sink like it was a heavy anchor and left it at the counter.

She rubbed her eyes and they devoured the kitchen, sluggishly. A tall pink protein shaker had been discarded recently near the counter. Residuals of the chocolate shake were now dripping out of the tilted shaker. A glass of ice lay on the other side, waiting to be sucked on.

Condensation was running down the glass. She watched a small bead of cold water run down the glass and form a ring at the bottom. She wanted to hold the glass against her head and slide it down to her neck.

Her shoulders slumped and a wave of nausea passed through her. Strong and resounding. She clutched her stomach and looked at the watch, droplets of water were dripping down her golden grandfather clock. She blinked. _Let the hot afternoon be over _she pleaded silently.

Three hands. One on two and the other on four. She stared at the clock, not registering a word. Her eyes glanced through the apartment and back to the watch. Not realising the time a second time, green eyes looked at the statue of buddah meditating near a shallow podium near the door. She took a deep breath in, and exhaled with hope.

Another wave of nausea passed through her colliding dynamically with the shooting pains of her migraine. She bent to touch the cool stone counter against her forehead and took comfort in the small gesture. A faint buzzing started at the back of her mind. It was irritating.

The buzzing continued making her lie down on her kitchen floor. A hand crossed over her eyes for more darkness. The light aggravated her migraine.

A few feet away from her, she heard a couple laugh as they exited the lift and walked past her apartment. They were laughing and she imagined a dramatic young couple, a man with his arms around a woman's neck and cracking a joke about how the waiter thought they were married. She would then kiss him with happiness thinking their connection could lead to so many possibilities in the future. He would kiss her back, flashing his dimples all the while living in the land of Short-sightedness. They would make their way to the end of the corridor, a little woozy with the delicious wine and passion. The man would have a radio in his pocket that would be playing Mack Mareen's _Love-Spy_.

Sure enough, the song could be heard from the thin wooden doors and she smiled at young love. What she would do to be in it.

The buzzing and the migraine thought it was enough thinking and like lightening the pain shot again. She crawled to the fridge for an ice-pack. A yellow post it hung above her head and she yanked it down. She couldn't remember her writing a post-it.

"_I have proof, don't you dare try to kill me."  
_  
The woman read in the dim apartment and stood in scepticism. Who would write this to her and why? It must be a message. Someone threatening me? I am thunderstruck.

Of course it was shocking that a bony woman of 35 would be accused of such a thing. She had never even established eye contact with even the grocers.

_Why she wouldn't even hurt a fly..._

The buzzing continued and now it had a life of its own. It didn't feel like the noise was from her head. A slow buzzing continued and she ran through her gloomy house, paranoid about the noise and note. _Somebody was in here. I know it_ she thought furiously.

Her closet door creaked with poor oiling as she pushed open the door. A small light came from the bottom of the cabinet. You couldn't see it directly with the heaps of boots and winter scarves near it.

A pain shot through her again. .Happening. She clutched her hair in desperation. _If only everything would shut up for a minute I would hear myself think_ she thought. Now annoyed at her blocked mind and burning eyes and blurry vision, she dived into the closet, reaching for the origin of the light. Throwing boots haphazardly in every direction she pulled out a heavy and tiny abandoned television set. It was on. Scrambled signals were messing with her thinking and she dropped it to the ground. Ants were on the screen and the TV was looking for a hint of reception.

The TV was not plugged in.

Raspy, short breaths escaped from her parted lips as she tried to control her heartbeat. _Not again. _ The woman's eyes were rolling in her sockets and her head was sending white hot stabs of pain right, right down her Medula Oblongata. Something was pounding and burning her brain from the inside. The woman retched. Hot, chocolate shake ran down her front. Smelling her own sickness she retched again, this time bending forward and pouring healthy stuffy undigested material on her Brown Cashmere Boots.

She ran out not wanting to smell it again, unaware it was on her. Her body was pushing her to the fridge. Small spasms ran through her legs as her mind compelled her to run to the window. The invisible force now dragged her feet backwards to the kitchen. Her hip clashed against the stone counter and she heard a crack. Breathtaking pain shot through her system and she gasped.

Screaming. Someone was screaming and it was filling the space with the horrible screeching noise. The side of her lip was tearing with her mouth shooting open to it's fullest.  
Her ears hurt because of her own screaming and there was buzzing.

Between the screaming and the buzzing began the pounding. The neighbours, probably the lovers were disturbed and were pounding on the door. She wanted to open it but someone  
inside her yelled. __

_No!_

The thrashing continued as her hands took a life of their own. They opened the door of the freezer. This was the oddest thing a person who looked possessed could do at the time but the voice in her head and the searing hot pain down her brain were making her do it.

Her own head slammed against the ice box in the freezer as it seized in the sub zero temperature. An alien hand was slamming her head and crushing her spinal cord. Trying to break down the bone. Her legs started getting heavy as her hands slammed harder into the door, until finally the head of Arianna Moore lay lifeless in her own sleek, double-doored fridge.

-

The lanky body of Agent Fox Mulder rested against the silver fridge of Arianna Moore. His brow was knotted at the sight of her self-abused mangled body. He let out a low breath. _Why would someone do this to themselves? _

Her skull was slightly cracked and you could see charcoal bits of matter inside her skull. Her eyes were bulging out and her lips were swollen and blue. Her pupils weren't to be seen.

Scrunching his nose he leaned towards her, running a finger down her hair. Sick was matted in it and it was cold and straw-like. His eyes followed the trail of her body until it reached her hands. They were twisted upward and were holding on the the door of the freezer like their life depended on it.

Unthinkingly, he pulled out his phone and dialled in the number of his partner.

_"It's me." _He said in all his glory, waiting for the dreary voice of his partner to dull down his party.

"_Mulder_" The woman on the other side said in her slow voice, not disappointing him.

_Silence_. She waited for him to go on.

"_Imagine freezing your own brain" _ he said seductively, hoping to pique her interest.

_"People do some crazy things Mulder. I haven't forgotten the time where you ran behind a trailer in a park, for a theory you still haven't proved."_ Even if the woman was interested, it didn't show.

Snap.

_"__Her brain is fried, quite literally actually. Kinda like a big steak on a Friday Night Barbeque." _He knew this would get her drooling, he smirked.

_"That's not possible."_ Still mysterious.

_"Do her autopsy. I'm sending her body over now." _He gestured to some men, to take Arianna Moore's body down to Agent Dana Scully.

_"I have my own case going on you know", _she grumbled.

He smiled. _"Well do this as a favour then."_

_"Fine."_

The phone clicked and the line was dead.

Agent Mulder knew that these kind of things didn't happen very often and when they did there was always another explanation. So he decided to snoop for proof to find out what actually happened.

-

**A/N: **Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. Should I continue? Let me know!


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Save Me, Frenzy

**Pairing: **Mulder/Scully

**Rating: **T – M (Possible mature content in the nature of words, violence, explicit language which may be triggering for some)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the X-files and/or any of the characters in it. They belong to Fox&amp; Co. , the producers and Chris Carter. I do not own any rights to books, movies, titles or trademarks mentioned in the hereby story.

**Made for entertainment purposes only.**

**A/N: ** Happy New Year!

#

**Chapter 2**

Agent Scully blinked. A cold chrome door separated her from the loud, busy office workers. It was her seventh autopsy of the day and her body ached. Mulder, being the erratic paranoid man that he is, insisted on Scully alone doing the autopsy of the bodies he sent by. So the weighing of the internal organs, urinary tract, heart, lungs had to be done by her. If that wasn't enough, each brain took a decade to examine. Each family preferred their own way to deal with the body. A small paper hung on the clock resting on the table, with personalised instructions of what to do with the dead body of a loved one.

This piece of paper was seldom seen, like a rare treat on a Sunday afternoon. Mostly, the odd bodies Mulder found didn't have a home or a family. Most body's autopsy consent forms were signed by a certain 'Fox Mulder'. So every once in a while, when the small note made an appearance, Scully felt a little lighter. It made the process enjoyable. The thought of one rare unfortunate body having a family and love was an optimistic thought that Dana hid from everyone but herself.

Three people in all rooms aside hers, performed an autopsy. This made the process less tedious and tiring. Kept all concerned parties focused. Agent Dana Scully never lost focus but today she selfishly wanted to turn herself into one of these bodies so she wouldn't have to cut up another one. Lost in thought she traced her finger along the blunt side of the scalpel, waiting for her cadaver.

A cold wind blew in from the sudden movement and four men pushed the body of Arianna Moore on a table. The door flung open and Scully saw the trace of an inscription on the door, before it enveloped the men and closed once more. She knew it by heart. It was the only thing that made her push the door open every time Mulder sent a suspicious looking body her way. It was pitiful that he was mostly wrong. The inscription on the metal read, "Hic locus est ubi mors gaudet succurrere vitae." It was a beautiful phrase but not uncommon for an autopsy room. The Latin inscription read "This is the place where death rejoices to help those who live."

The four men all turned to observe the very fascinating Agent Scully. She turned to look at them in high hopes of scaring them. It worked. None of them spoke but instead got into the process of weighing the body, submitting their reports of the patient, and resting her on the operating table.

The late Miss Moore's brown hair flowed to both sides. The once lustrous locks were caked in salvia, vomit and blood. Undernourishment had made it brittle and straw like. It was obvious that she had a lot going on if she had no time to look at her hair. The men nodded their farewell , coughed awkwardly and left, discussing their dinner plans at the local diner on the way out. Breeze swept in a second time before the door snapped shut again.

And just like that Scully was involved with Arianna Moore and the deaths similar to hers that followed.

The doctor noted the name, sex, height and weight. She then proceeded on opening one eyelid to observe the eye colour, she checked the ears for any sign of infection and noted they had nail scratched across the cartilage indicating that she was highly troubled. Her extremities were noticeably numb. She lifted each leg to check for injuries. The patient's thin knees were bruised and the skin was peeling off. The stomach looked swallow and cheekbones lifeless. She noted her observations with a small audio recorder.

Her voice droned on, "Patient 1003045 is ready for internal observations". Her hands were precise; she started with one shoulder joint and traced the scalpel from under the body's breast up to the mid-chest. She then mirrored her actions meeting the first incision. A small amount of blood flowed out her cuts, looking like a thin red V. The point meeting at the V then cutstraight to her pubic bone. It was flawless. She put on her protective glasses as she pulled out a bone saw. The chest was ready to be cracked. A little blood spurted on her plastic apron as she drilled through her ribs and cartilage that connected to the breast bone. The entire frontal rib cavity was then lifted up by her and rested it on another table.

Weighing each organ took longer, searching for any tellatale sign an internal bruising or a determinant in the cause of death within the intestines. The only thing she found was a slightly enlarged, orange liver, indicating heaving alcohol abuse. There was no reason to examine the urinary tract in detail. _"Heavy drinking but normal intestines other than that", _the recorder blinked receptively.

The heart and lungs appeared normal but as she looked deeply near the extremities she found reason to suspect inadequate blood supply. So two incisions on each arm were made to examine her hands, not even a trickle of blood, the very tips of her fingers indicated a far longer time of death than her body, the same procedure was done on her feet. The result was no different. "_Why do her extremities look like a walking zombie while her body indicated a very recent time of death?",_ a woman's voice spoke into the small recorder.

The brain autopsy was to be started next. It began with a cut, ear to ear and cutting down the skull with a vibrating saw that preserved the tofu like matter inside. It was bruised and almost whacked shapeless so it took a long time to carefully take the brain out.  
_"From what I can see of the brain, the medulla oblongata is twice the size it should be_", the woman had genuine interest now in her voice.

"I'm going to rest the brain of Patient 1003045 in Formalin for a day." The brain was set to rest in the steel bowl containing the liquid. The organs had been examined and thrown into a plastic bag. The sterilized bag sat in the corner, with the large intestine now wrapped loosely around the pancreas. The bile was dripping on the heart. The small intestine was still on the scale as Scully looked at her watch. She ripped out her apron and took off her boots at the end of the room before she left for lunch. Leaving unanswered questions and destruction in her wake.

An autopsy required half a week at least to publish so it came as a shock to the young doctor when a certain partner announced his deductions based off her unfinished report.

General Tso lay on a bed of rice, still piping hot as Scully dug her spoon in to fish out a huge bite. She chewed it slowly, savouring the taste of the sauce and the hit of ginger. It was really good, she felt relaxed for the first time during the whole day. The door opened and the silhouette of a tall figure stood near it. _Right on cue, _she thought.

Scully smiled at the dark silhouette. She _knew _he smiled back. Without disturbing the silence he walked to her. Footsteps echoed in the dark unwanted basement.

"_Scully, where is mine?"_

She handed him his box of chicken and he propped himself up on the table, breaking open his lunch and letting the steam out. She was reading the morning paper, and she flipped page 6 nonchalantly, skimming through the headlines of the Washington Post.

"_So about this possession case, I have a theory. It actually came to me while I was reading your case report."_

_"How did you get my case report? It's not even out yet."_

Mulder, lost in thought, stared at her a minute before answering.

_"Miranda"_

_"Miranda"?" _She looked confused now, stopping mid –bite waiting of him to answer.

He raised his brows at her before saying, "_Your assistant"._

_"Oh, right."_

_"Listen, I was thinking it may be a curse."_

_"A curse? Of what kind?"_

_"I'm not sure yet, shall we go over the case report right now?"  
_  
Mulder was pacing around now , he withdrew a dull off white folder from his desk drawer and put it in front of her. Scully flipped through the pages abandoning her newspaper. A bony face was paper clipped on her birth certificate, a few more papers about her jobs, a few battered doctor's certificates.

"_Maybe she had a medical condition, Pulmonary Arterial Disease."_

_"The reports are vague..."_

_"Mmm.." , _continuing to eat her lunch again, while he read through the open case file.

_"You know that old wives tale" , _Mulder's voice was soft and absentminded now. Multitasking wasn't really a man's job so eating, reading and story-telling often got him absentminded. Not that he would ever admit it.

"_Which one?"_

_"It's about the way I found her body and the apartment. The old tale that says if you sleep with a mirror facing you, negative energy is reflected inside you.."_

_"Was her bed facing the mirror?"_

_"No, it was quite odd, the mirror had been dragged to the centre of the room, and her clothes were piled facing the mirror."_

_"It is odd", _she affirmed sticking the last piece of chicken in her mouth, "_but Mulder where did you hear this tale?"_

_"Oh, it goes around. Aren't you going to ask me why her clothes were piled in a heap in front of a mirror?"_

_"I was getting there. She threw up didn't she?"_

_"Yes, how do you-?", _he sat back down on her desk folding her newspaper. __

_"Her body showed signs of dehydration and while she greeted her guts, some was still lodged in her nose" , _she said reciting her findings again.

Mulder audibly gasped. _"You didn't have it on your case report", _he ejected dramatically.

She sighed, "_It's incomplete.."_

_"Ok, ok, So tell me", _he leaned closer seductively, "_are you aware of the dead red Indian Shoshone tribe?" _And just as quickly he had leaned in, he jumped off her desk to throw his now empty lunch box and walk to the projector, a new spring in his step.

"_No"_

He walked around gathering his things and adjusting to projector to the images he wanted to show her. "_Well not to fret, what I have here are the images of the tribes, several cases of people attacked in unexplainable ways all of whom have shown ancestry of the Shoshone tribe, and the burial practices of this tribe."_

_"The burial practices must originate from India, they involve elaborate festivities for the celebration of a new life, while the actual burial takes place with a horse"_

_"And also-, _he tried to interject her but she cut him again.

"_Also, at times gifts are buried to take to your after life with the dead horse being the mode of transport"_

_"Yes". H_e invisibly run his hand over his bruised ego but didn't lose heart. He continued on her well laid foundation, sculpting his theory.

"_I think that this could be the ancient age old squabble of tribes, or at most a cursed tribe. Her family history also shows deaths like this, of her direct family. Her mother not having any blood of the tribe, did not die in the same manner."_

_"It seems plausible that an ancient curse could be placed on an entire lineage but who is to say that this actually works and how can we analyse a case by something that cannot be proven by any hard facts."_

_"So I say, you and I go check the place out, and there I have traced down her direct family, only two are alive, so I say we have a little chat with them."_

_"Look, it's probably nothing, let's see what the autopsy of the brain reveals. I don't want to jump to any conclusions", _Scully watched Mulder intently, eyes boring into his as though seeing new depths to him.

"_Alright", _he said defeated, returning her gaze, lips slightly pursed.

"_For all we know this Shaw-Shaw Horse could be a dead end" , _she said, straightening her coat and leaning back into the chair. The corner of her eye caught a big blue blob and she turned her gaze to Mulder's poster.

The white letters of hope once again reminded her of Mulder's search into the abyss and the desperation he had in his search. He had gone through so much and she softened. His soft voice interrupted her. "_Shoshone and it's my theory from the knowledge I know as of now, only time will tell now" , _he said confidently and resuming his place at his desk and idly gazing at a smiling Samantha.

"_Shaw-Shaw case does not have any scientific backing, this angst between the two tribes is all up in the air, it's just talk."_

_"Well this talk does prove profitable sometimes Scully, you should try it" , _Mulder lightly teased Scully letting the whole thing go.

Scully agreed to listen to his explanation with the unsaid condition that she would still continue her theory on her case.  
As Mulder sped through the images, new light fell on the room and they examined each picture. Dark men with feathers around their necks gathered around burial grounds, modern day tribal fests, the smashed head of Arianna Moore, it was all there. And they watched in holy silence horses being lowered methodically into graves.

The sun set over the J. Edgar. Hoover building the basement was the last to witness the slow fall of orange into the horizon. Mulder and Scully watched yet again another sunset, absorbed in their work, but taking in a minute to notice the time that had passed since Mulder first drew a red X on the road. They hardly noticed it anymore, day after day dealing with frustrating and sometimes unsatisfying cases but today, they thought it.

There was still silence in the room but Mulder stole a glance at Scully to see if she was thinking it. No words required, as she turned to look at him, she saw all the times they sat up late chasing dead ends and watching each other grow.

A few hours and two coffees later they were filing their pending reports and reading through books. It wasn't until Mulder received a package that they looked up from their respective worlds. Around 7, Mulder left with the package, leaving Scully alone in the basement. She then decided that she would not be Mrs. Spooky and left the office, carefully locking Mulder's office behind her, her hands full with books from the nearby library on the working of the human brain.


	3. Chapter 3

****

**Title: **Save Me, Frenzy

**Pairing: **Mulder/Scully

**Rating: **T – M (Possible mature content in the nature of words, violence, explicit language which may be triggering for some)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the X-files and/or any of the characters in it. They belong to Fox&amp; Co. , the producers and Chris Carter. I do not own any rights to books, movies, titles or trademarks mentioned in the hereby story.

**Made for entertainment purposes only.**

**A/N: ** Please Review!

#

**Chapter 3**

We all sleep in the same darkness, under the same lunar light, and blind to the same horrors. The lights go off at bedtime and our eyes then become ignorant to things we were practiced to seeing. We turn our bodies on the soft bed, unconsciously turning our backs to the door. The door to the room we all sleep in. The entry into our solace, which is also the exit. Our breathing gets slower and our bodies submit to the tiredness. Mentally, physically and emotionally we retire for the day. The moment, every light is off and every body is unaware, that is when active imagination comes to play.

The dust moats that danced in the sunlight during the day had now settled on to the furniture, the curtains formed a cavernous, chaotic rectangle, like wavy locks of hair. The tips slightly fluttered in the blue darkness from the cool wind that escaped from a gap of a window left ajar. Ample streetlight fluttered into her first floor apartment, amalgamating a tinge of yellow in the absence of the sun.

The windows looked abandoned like tresses never caressed. A laptop in front of the window, lay spent from it's recent use. A waft of basil flowered into the house, reaching from the couch facing the kitchen to the bathroom that lay on the other side of the apartment. A slow drift of lemon danced with the basil, giving it new life.

Yellow light from the kitchen danced off the white walls, making the shadows of cabinets look sinister. The shadow of her own body was cast on the floor and the head looked almost inhuman on the enlarged body that stared at it.

Cold pale hands gripped tightly onto a grey mug as this scented water was carried into the bedroom. It looked like a pit less well with a tornado swirling every molecule with invisible force. The spoon now lay abandoned inside a clean, almost dry sink. Small feet headed to bed, taking the scented air with it. Closing the door slightly on her way in, a small gap now separated the bathroom from the living room. Blue walls made the thin darkness cast a hue of a lover's night together, before the severed head of each would be found by the maid the next morning. There was serenity and there was tragedy, hidden behind the thin door to Dana Scully's bedroom.

Her thick white socks padded into the room, nose buried into the steam. Eyes closed, she let her practiced legs take her to the bed, where she settled in, enveloping her body into the cotton comforter. The bathroom door was left wide open, the light still on. She groaned inwardly looking at it, her legs gave in at the thought of walking to shut the light off, so she decided to let it stay as she leaned to her far right to turn on a bedside lamp. A small book was brought into light under the lamp. She replaced it with her mug of herbal water and looked at the cover, ghostly, chalky and dusty words read, "The Emancipation of the Modern Man" all of occupying two lines. White capital writing was engraved under the name as a gloomy warning of the tattered book reading "ON MARS". She opened it to a marked page and let luminosity fall onto the strong opinionated words of the writer. The clock on her bedside read 9:30 pm and somewhere towards the end of the hour, an empty mug lay under ashen light and strands of red were fallen onto the book, deep breathing ensuing from the woman now slumbering. The red hair resembled the soil on Mars as shown on the cover of the book.

Her life on Mars was doing the tango with her horror filled past. Red dusty ground was mixing with the face of a man. Extraterrestrials were suddenly stroking shiny hair and that's when the first hitch in her breath concluded disturbance.

A black figure stood near the edge of her bed, taking in all the light the bathroom provided. His alabaster skin was warmed by a black snug turtleneck and his hands showed signs of regular moisturizing. His face was still, his mouth closed. Slow meticulous breathing showed subtle signs in the rise and fall of his chest. He stood confidently on his feet, giving balanced weight of on both legs. His feet stood respectably hardly a feet apart from each other. A man so silent, so seemingly ineffective was making her subconscious fight, tooth and nail until victory was shown in the most smallest of movements. As the tall, broad shouldered man stood in the path of white light, his soft skin gave a creamy luminance and all of eternity had passed but he still hadn't moved until... Until the tip of his pointer finger twitched.

The breathing in the woman was faster, ragged, like she was at a morning jog in her sleep. The book moved ever so slightly from under her and she unconsciously pulled the thick fleshy comforter up to her neck.

The man moved upto the bed, not disturbing the air around him. Each foot took of the ground and softly fell onto each side of the woman. He was now standing over her and his face had still not showed any signs of intrusion. He lowered his body slowly, like a cat stretching after a long nap, onto the delicate body of the sleeping victim. His strong muscular hands held him above her, his palms forcefully digging into each side of her shoulder. He was on his knees, so close that he could smell the basil around her too now. He opened his mouth to taste the air and his heart skipped a beat. His palms clenched into the covers in ecstasy, sweat matting the juicy blanket under his fingers. Broken breathing came from the man in the dog like stance and he looked into the eyes of the woman. Two delicate lids separated him from clear green irises. He liked it this way, he liked them unmoving and helpless. _Give or take a few minutes of oxygen to the brain_ he thought headily.

And for the first time, a slow smile stretched across his clean square teeth, stopping at the canines that now glinted at the back. His face was inches from hers and his nose hardly a few centimetres from hers. They shared the same oxygen and his nose deliberately pushed into hers, his groin aching.

She awoke. Wide eyes stared at the man on her and her heart rate plummeted sky high. Her hands shot from under the book to ball her fists but she couldn't move. Each cell was pushing her knuckles to her palm in wild desperation. Her legs were begging to kick him and her face was aching to make room with his. She felt his breathing and inhaled his scent. She couldn't move but her mind was so willed, the frustrating, infuriating, terrifying situation sent shivers down her spine. Any sign of movement would give her a hint of hope; she wanted to run into a pool of the coldest and freshest acid she could find

And she did. She moved. The soft flesh in her windpipe was scratched with the shrill voice echoing through the walls. Her face shined in the light of her lamp. There lay Scully in the silent room, thrashing and screaming until the voice of a woman woke her body up. Scully realised her mouth was making the god awful noise and begged to herself to shut up. It had been two years but the trauma caused by the taupe eyes belonging to Donnie Pfaster somehow never left her mind.

Mind racing she pushed her body off the bed, wiping sweat of her face. A book lay under her and for a moment she wondered how it got there. Keeping it back on the bedside she glued her body to side of the bed staring at her gun. It was kept on the cabinet facing her bed and until her heart recovered she was comforted by just staring at it through semi darkness and that's when she felt it. Small hairs from the back of her neck stood up. There was something in this room, _a presence. _If she was a dog, her ears would be copped up to the fullest right now.

A tall figure stood in the gap of the door left ajar. A figure in a black turtleneck stood in the door way, but it was tall too tall to be human. There was something wrong, something wrong with the anatomy. His legs endlessly stretched to the floor and neatly trimmed hair cast a shadow into the room and as she stared, until she swore two of the thinnest strands of hair were standing up. It looked for a moment like two horns on his head. The figure was emitting a red light. As he smiled she watched each tooth stand out, reflecting in the darkness like an animal. Each canine tip was waiting to sink its teeth into her and she ran to her gun, not wasting a second more ready to shoot the attacker and as she sped to her gun. And as her body whirled of the bed and towards the gun, a thick gust of air slapped back and he was gone.

Fearing insanity, each light was methodically flicked on and a gun was strapped to her night suit. The belt felt unfamiliar to her silk shirt and the silk underneath it moved with every step she took. Her irrational fear was dissipating fast, but it had caused the actual recollections of her memory to scare her more. She threw open her door and walked to the living room. The room was cold and she walked to the window next to her laptop and snapped it shut with one fluid motion.

Only one room was left now.

It took one gun, a glass of water and all the courage she had to go into the bathroom. The light was already on and it helped her nerves but she wasn't satisfied. She needed more. She needed assurance. Her hands were shaky as she made her way to the tub. Standing over it, her body froze. An irrational thought of her unfinished life crossed her mind but she kicked it away.

Her eyes stared in the tub, imagining water running into it. She almost saw steam rise out from the gush of water from the tap. Her legs were rooted on the same spot. Maybe time had outrun her but she didn't notice. Her nose sniffled at the cold but she didn't care. One hand was stuck to the butt of the gun. Ready for anything that came.

Her body was not listening to her. Her assurance was standing over her bathtub and she almost let out a hysterical laugh at the thought. Her eyes were on the bathroom door and they were strained and dry. She blinked only when absolutely necessary. Both hands felt heavy with their own weight. Her mind was imaging things that weren't happening and her body was at war, war between reality and fear. Each knew the inevitable could not be helped but each side held on, causing imbalance and anxiety.

She knew she needed to go to bed, or at least move or distract herself. She knew she couldn't stand here all her life but wanted to. She wanted something that would make her stop fighting with herself in her head. Her mind was shoving ideas down the trash by the minute and was skimming through files that could help her maybe a diagnosis. And just like that a small spark ignited and lit fire through the neurons in her body, one by one like a rope on fire it caused a stimulus response. Her hands, alien to her body, moved. They reached out to her shampoo bottles and hair products until all of them were gathered into her arms and beneath her pits. She walked to the kitchen and hid them under her sink, near the trash. Her back felt cold and exposed any way she walked so she did the only thing she knew that would build a wall of confidence around her.

She walked steadily to her phone and settled on the bed yet again, leaving the bedroom door wide open. Her gun still hung from her hip but she took it out to rest it on the bedside. She settled in a heap of her thick blanket and dialled the number. It was time to pull out the big guns. She felt much better already. The phone rang twice before she checked her digital watch on her bedside, 2:30 am. Three more rings and she was about to give up when the warm voice filled her ears. She half smiled in relief eyebrows crinkling emotionally at the voice.

"_Mom"_

_"Dana? What's wrong?"_

_"Just called to check in", _Margaret Scully knew more than to pursue this. After the death of her husband William and Margaret, she was her rock. She realised only in the absence of her husband how alike him and Dana were. She felt a sense of connection, like a reminder of Dana's father when she talked to her. It warmed her memories. She was used to getting calls from her this late into the night but a mother always worries. So it was nice to hear voice, even if she wasn't doing so fine rather than the cold voice of a policeman.

"_I disturbed you?", _the nervous voice of her daughter sounded on the other side, waiting for some conversation, any flow of words that came her way.

"_Not at all" , _her mother smiled, "_what case are you working on?", _generally the answer to her discomfort ran through the spine of the case she was solving.

_Maybe not this time_ Margaret thought as her daughter launched into an explanation of the case and Mulder's thoughts on it. _So this Mulder was still in the picture _her mother thought at the mention of his name but didn't say a word. And when Dana was exhausted from all the talking, she began her talking about old trips their family took or funny memories of her with her brothers and fights with her sister. It wasn't until she heard the voice of her daughter getting softer and dreamier, she volunteered to hang up.

As Margaret walked up the stairs and back into her bed, she knew she would perhaps never know the cause to most of her distress, but like her father, she knew the way to comfort her daughters mind.

-

__


	4. Chapter 4

**Save Me, Frenzy**

**Title: **Save Me, Frenzy

**Pairing: **Mulder/Scully

**Rating: **T – M (Possible mature content in the nature of words, violence, explicit language which may be triggering for some)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the X-files and/or any of the characters in it. They belong to Fox&amp; Co. , the producers and Chris Carter. I do not own any rights to books, movies, titles or trademarks mentioned in the hereby story.

**Made for entertainment purposes only.**

**A/N: ** Please review! Let me know what you think of the story so far. I am open to constructive criticism and deserved compliments.

#

**Chapter 4**

" I want you to believe... to believe in things you cannot. "

Mulder exhaled with frustration. It had been two weeks and his theory had been proved wrong and the one lead he was least expecting to find here was glaring him in the face in each way possible. A lot had happened but it had started with the completion of Scully's autopsy on the patient. Autopsy on the brain of the patient revealed faulty neurotransmitters meaning possible schizophrenia. Since the patient seemed to have not undergone any treatment, official documents did not exist. A small chip inserted in the Medulla Oblongata of Arianna Moore resembled the chip Scully had removed from the back of her neck, complicating matters a bit more. The abduction was rarely spoken of due to the memory loss of his partner during that time so treading around this particular mine field was a tedious task.

Scully was coming to work slightly late and distracted this week and he pretended not to notice but he knew the nature of this case had had serious repercussions on her sleep. Nobody else would have noticed the subtle signs but he knew when something deeply unsettleling had happened to her. His obvious over attachment to this case put him on edge as well and caused his jaw to clench every time he saw his sister's laughing face in pictures, his mind wandering into dangerous territory and cooking terrible possibilities. To top it all three twinkling lights soared into the sky, like an aircraft being tested, once again taunting his unprepared self on the nature of the case.

And he turned his gaze back into the night watching the triplets of lights soar past him.

Each fleck of brown in the iris of the man, shone a ray of overlapping thoughts. Hope was beside confusion as it looked into the endless pit of answers. He wondered if he would ever fall to the bottom, whether there was a gravelly floor to the well of questions. He dove in with blind faith eons ago. The childish beliefs he held were rapidly dissipating in cool air, leaving behind a piece of the skeletal puzzle. Sharp shards of ignorance and conformity slapped his face but with each stride grew a more strengthened outcome.

He lived in a world of confusion and terror where success came to those who worked hard enough, nothing said about answers. His mind had devoured the absurdities of the system and hypocrisy of society and leaving him stranded in a sea of heads facing the other way.

A murky figure, rotated around it's axis, keeping constancy in perspective. Green was scattered around abundant blue and the centre pulled together all this, with it's gravitational pull. These pair of eyes were now lost in a similar cloud, hidden behind the blanket of sky into the galaxy proving the insignificance of his search in the scale of pressing priorities.

The tip of the earth was like the top of an ice cream cone, swirling in rubble of iciness. Irregularities in the sea level were seen with the shades of blue flowing over the planet. Diminutive pieces of land were scattered over vast land, their peculiar shapes standing out from the elliptical bulging figurine. The far east showed vague signs of mellow light while the far west slept under reassuring darkness. The top showed mild signs of snow melting into silvery darkness while the bottom basked in the sun.

After each dip of the glowing ball of fire into the horizon, it was sure to rise up in the morning. The thick forests and dusty plains that all grew increasingly silent were sure to witness a change in environment; come dawn. The Earth was sure to revolve around the Sun and rotate around its axis. A thick blanket of starry darkness encompassed the sky and on days like this the mere power of hope bought two flashing lights in the sky only to disappear in the blink of an eye.

Galaxies were made and the dinosaurs on earth came to existence only to meet their fate, proving useful for the study of palaeontology millions of years later. Creatures over the universe were being brought into existence and rudely blasted off as nature created each species more powerful that the other. From the largest species ever discovered and the heaviest beings to walk our planet, evolution brought about the strongest thing to ever reside on the known part of our galaxy, the human brain.

So it stopped, the fifth mass extinction brought about changes in each being until the homo sapiens came into existence. The prediction of the sixth mass extinction brought about on earth hints at one thing, if not true, that science is on it's way to creating something more formidable to walk across the land, with or without the help of man. Theories of survival of the fittest were put forward and the definition of the fittest changed from the strength in your sinew to the control of power.

Through the confusion and the treasure hunt for answers, brought together people and they began the basic search to expand and reproduce their genes. Empires created unison in people and the need for defence, brought about wars and bloodshed within the species. Realizing that man could not trust men like himself, he built societies and organizations within groups causing a filtration system. Each circle carried in it fewer and increasingly hazardous nuggets of knowledge.

Cold metal and lanky instruments sit on our dusky grounds, testing the power of human intuition. It is hidden from frenzy and the destructive nature of mankind. The cavity of rocks hide secrets that we keep from ourselves and the ocean conceals millions of species yet to be discovered. And so began the evolution of man and it's power. Man began abusing the course of nature, meddling with time, harnessing energy and experimenting with the environment. Each generation put forth a new idea to change life as we know it and the invention of the fire, the wheel, the principle of gravity and modern technology caused a stir in nations.

Man began crossing the thin line between evolution and destruction as he began meddling nature with the synthetic technology he made. With each discovery came casualties that lay forgotten in the face of success. Some mistakes lay traces of their existence in understated forms waiting below invisible shackles to be discovered. Man had finally made something even he had no control over. This knowledge merged with the awareness of species living in planets very similar to our own, fighting for sustenance.

Competition and Industrialization thrived under the watch of elected members of each country, and soon began the thirst for knowledge, greed for knowing more than we were intended to know and the satisfaction of knowing it first.

All this lay hidden under the interwoven stars and beyond, and every so often, like any secret you could see the small cracks of imperfection. Of reality.

Mulder lay under the stars, prickly dried grass cushioning his back and his arms suspended into the air tracing the line of the lights into thin air. He shut his eyes for a few moments, unconsciously digging his feet deeper into the soil.

The case that had seemed so insignificant and small had now magnified in a short number of days. The case now raced from his grasp like an ambulance; sirens glaring into his senses. The continuous horrendous sound echoed into his ears and carried with it, the gist of death.

Billy Salmon had been another young man whose fate had been similar in nature to the first patient. He had buried himself in a heap of freshly dug Earth, literally lowering his own body into his grave. He had been in his early twenties and the autopsy of his brain too showed a small chip in his Medulla Oblongata. With that the last hope of the case being of _Shaw-Shaw _origins had been comically tossed out the window.

The sandy haired man in his prime youth had shown early signs of schizophrenia after his abduction and his soft demeanour and well-built physique had been drugged with paranoia and bad skin. Not to mention sluggish feet and a protruding belly.

His body showed no signs of alcohol or nicotine abuse, so the autopsy of the brain provided only a single wavering link Mulder needed.

Scientifically speaking, it did not seem possible that a scar so small on his scalp was the only incision made while inserting the chip but they would have to go with it. Residing in New Mexico, with a wife who liked collecting everything she saw, he was a hard man to track down. No one seemed to twitch at yet another life lost Mulder had thought wryly as he pried the hair of away from his wife's hoard-ey hands.

Nobody seemed to be of much help in New Mexico to Mulder or Scully but they let them conduct the autopsy which was more than enough. Granted he had to fight his way into the good books of the circle of cops but Scully got her privileges and they didn't need to worry about anything else just yet. They knew just as much as they did the last week and the week before that but talking to the wife seemed to put them a step further in Scully's field report.

It seemed as though signals through nearby operating electronics were directly affecting or activating the chip, causing migraines. This could be observed in both patients and they needed to find more of these people that Mulder thought the government was trying to get rid of. _To wipe all existing evidence _as he so nicely put it.

So they set in search of people abducted five years ago, generalizing the category based on the last two patients and all over North America only four hit red lights. Two of them, dead. The next day Mulder and Scully would be driving to Massachusetts to hunt down the only co-operative abductee they could find; Abraham Whitney.

The last any one had heard of him would be before his abduction, when he still had a job. Maybe a man with a beating heart whose life was in immediate danger would help shed some light on the pressing doubt Mulder had about the life of his partner.

Abraham Whitney had claimed to be abducted 11 times in the last 23 years but they would have to take his word on it. His mind too, seemed to have been taking a turn for the worst after the last time he was taken. He also claimed to have never been able to sit in an airplane after the incident. He had said the start of these chronic migraines could start with the smallest signs of PTSD. His over enthusiasm to discuss himself had made him real chatty over the phone and when Mulder finally got him to end the call he was sure of one thing.

He knew Scully was stressed and with all these theories up in the air he felt that Scully was in danger.

She had not mentioned her dream to him but from the bags under her eyes and lapses in their conversations, he knew she was thinking of the things her mind had willed her not to think of.


End file.
